


Out of the Graveyard into the Grave

by bistourylove



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, PWP without Porn, Shameless Smut, Some Plot, Who needs plot, morimora, mormor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:56:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2277528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bistourylove/pseuds/bistourylove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mariella is just fine with her life the way it is, she enjoys her job as a mortician, likes her routine and is generally happy. She's never wanted more. That is, until one Mr. Jim Moriarty walks into her life and everything changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Graveyard into the Grave

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy the MorMor and the smut and the whatever the hell this is. Thanks for reading

Her mother had hoped and dreamed that after the divorce her daughter would find love again. Her mother was sort of an old fashioned romantic, so clearly her girl needed a good man. Her daughter however, was of a different opinion. Instead of finding a man to make her happy she found a career, instead of settling down she moved overseas and began doing all the things that made her happy when she was alone.  
Today was her day off, although it didn’t seem much like it. Instead of being a day for a lie in, this was the only day she had this week to clean her flat, run to the shops and maybe if she were lucky she would get to stop by Ginger & White to read and rest. As she walked through the Sainsbury she spoke to herself and her cart.  
“Milk, yes. Bread, yes. Bacon, yes. Typhoo, yes.” she named things on her checklist as she viewed them in her basket, then murmured “Oh, maybe I could get a” she turned the corner sharply to head for the bakery; a sudden collision jolts her from her dazed head space.  
“I am so sorry, oh my, are you all right?”  
“Oh no, you okay?”  
The sentences are overlaid, frantic apologies flow between the two involved in the mishap. Their eyes make contact for a moment before she looks away to swipe dark curly hair behind an ear.  
Oh Jesus, he’s fit isn’t he? Why does this happen to me?  
She can feel her cheeks warm, she is sure the tips of her ears have gone red - the realisation only leads to a deeper flush. He’s smiling at her with bright eyes.  
“Yeah, I’m just fine, you?”  
“Yes, thanks.” she replies with fake confidence, making eye contact, trying to look put together.  
“Do you know where I could find the marmalade?”  
“Um…” she sighs out of largely puffed cheeks “down two aisles that way I think” she points vaguely  
“Ta”

She just nods her head and begins to steer away from the handsome stranger. She heads towards the baked goods and spaces out while looking at macaroons and fresh breads. She should’ve said something to him, well she did, but, given him her name, maybe her mobile. But as usual she only thinks of these things after the fact, too late, how typical. She gives up on picking out an unnecessary sweet and heads to the check out.  
She loads her shopping into her trolley and starts to walk home. The day is nice, a bit overcast, but doubtful to rain within the time it will take her to reach her flat. She puts her headphones in to make the time pass quicker. She tries not to sing aloud with the songs she really loves, tries not to look like a crazy person.

People watching is fun, all these people are islands; you can see the shoreline but not into the heart of the jungle. This part of town was always busy. It had become her home over the last few years, which was lovely. New country, new start. Being in Camden meant tourists at random places and hours, trying desperately to find fun off the beaten path. This also meant she heard seemingly familiar voices often. Americans. She had never really belonged there, and no one who knew her had been surprised to find out she was moving to England when she had first made the announcement. A life of travel because of military parents had led her all over the globe, as an adult she felt uneasy living in her country of origin - so she had moved to her heart’s first home. But, every now and then she would hear someone who sounded like a distant friend and sort of missed The States. Her voice, as it had been all her life, was an odd accent, not quite American, not quite British, not quite Australian. An amalgamation of all the places she had grown up. If she felt like it she could easily trick sight-seers into thinking she were a local, or locals into thinking she were a sight-seer. In reality, she hardly spoke to people when she was out of work; had few friends, it was a solitary life, but it suited her. 

She picked up the little cart and made it to the second floor, fumbled with her keys momentarily and walked into her place. After unloading her items she flopped, bonelessly onto the loveseat in her sitting room; she grabbed a book off the paper cluttered coffee table and without intending to, fell asleep.  
Her dreams featured the young man from the shop. Sure there were sexual overtones but nothing specific, a sense of sweetness and longing. She woke up flustered and keyed-up. Her hand hiked up her skirt, she shuts her eyes and begins to replay her favourite moments with a lover from years ago. As she is rolling her hips, as her breath changes rhythm and she starts to give over to the ticklish heat of her fingertips, she is interrupted by her mobile.  
“Mariella Koble, how may I help you?”  
“Hey, it’s Keith, can you do a first call in Ludgate Hill, we are swamped.”  
“Yes, of course, I’ll come round for the removal vehicle in ten.”  
“Thanks”  
“Thanks”  
So much for a day off.  
She donned a suit, pinned up her hair and grabbed her work bag. She looks in the mirror before heading out the door.  
“Show time Mariella.”  
The removal goes well, well enough anyway. The family is distraught but silent as she loads the cot holding their father.  
“Please do contact us at your earliest convenience to make arrangements for your father.”  
Mariella hands over an embossed business card with the funeral home logo and information on it. 

What ought to be a quick drive back to her facility is doubled by the fact that there is an accident on Pancras Rd, but she eventually makes it to the firm on Kentish Town Rd.  
Unloading she says to Keith “Got permission to embalm off the NOK, want me to do him now?”  
“Yeah if you wouldn’t mind. When you’re done make a file for him eh? Oh and you can come in around ten tomorrow since you weren’t suppose to be here.”  
“No problem. Ta.”  
Keith leaves, probably back to the office for a spot and then maybe home for the day.  
Mariella snatches her bag , ducks into the closet, like a quick change artist she goes from business woman to embalmer in seconds. She tucks her Iphone in her lab coat pocket and sets it to her favourite playlist and connects her bluetooth. Here she doesn’t mind singing along.  
“Hello, Mr.Jenkins”  
She moves him over to the embalming table, undresses him, starts up the running water. His features are pretty good, just eye caps and a musculature suture is enough to make him look pleasant. A quick wash, she mixes her fluid, makes her supraclavicular incision. Unfortunately his vessels were already dropping, she has to dig for a bit, but eventually she finds what she needs. Snip and in goes the cannula. Injection begins. Massage, massage, massage. She aspirates singing “Nicest Thing” by Kate Nash. Suturing is always her favourite part. She dries him off, cover’s him in a sheet and leaves the prep room.  
“Bye for now, Mr. Jenkins”

As suspected, Keith has gone home for the day. Mariella sits, fills out the embalming report, creates a file, locks up and leaves still in her scrubs.  
As she rounds the corner to her flat she sees the young man from the grocery store coming out of the off-license.  
Don’t see me, don’t see me, don’t see me, don’t see me, don’t see me she mentally chants the mantra watching her feet step in front of one another, concrete approaching and retreating.  
“Hey marmalade girl” he says gripping her shoulder to get her attention, his tone a bit too enthusiastic.  
“Oh, um hey” damn, he’s seen me- I look like hell -I smell like hell…..hell  
“Jim, it’s Jim”  
“Mariella”  
God his eyes are gorgeous  
“Fancy a cure?” he’s says flashing a hopeful smile, bobbing on the balls of his feet a bit  
“I just got out of work” she replies, looking down at herself, hoping she doesn’t smell too strongly of formalin.  
“Ah, right, sorry.” disappointment plays across his face  
“Could I meet you later? Could really use a shower and a change.”  
“Yeah, know Oxford Arms? I think they’ve got the Arsenal match.”  
“Course. Go gunners eh?”  
“You keep up?”  
“Oh yeah, bit disappointed Walcott is out, but he should be fit for next season. Did you see that winning goal Jenkinson had last week against Norwich? That was his first goal for Arsenal too, great shot.”  
“Right then. See you there, Mariella.”  
“Bye James”  
“Just Jim, please.”  
“Bye Jim.”

Her heart is racing as she hops into the shower. A quick hard scrub with potent eucalyptus soap takes the smell of chemicals and death off her skin and replaces it with clean and crisp.  
Standing around in her underwear, Mariella starts talking to herself again.  
“Oxford Arms, Arsenal, casual. Hmm. Jeans?” She digs through her wardrobe to find the one pair of jeans she has. If she’s not in a suit or scrubs, she almost always wears dresses and skirts, but a dress would make meeting Jim seem too much like a date. So yes, jeans and her home Arsenal kit with Ramesy 16 plastered over the back of it .She pulls her hair up in a loose ponytail, allowing a few pieces of hair to fall and frame her face. Just a bit of makeup, not too much - she wants to look natural but nice.  
Deep breaths as she snatches up her purse and heads for the pub. 

The second she walks in she sees Jim, up at the bar, intent on the match, thumbing the rim of his pint glass.  
You can do this. He invited you.  
After she hangs her coat on the rack she is greeted by the bartender.

“Mari, love, the yoghze?”  
“Of course Paul, how’s Linda and Chloe?”  
“Visiting family in Malmesbury, wanna come round?”  
“You keep trying to get a leg over and I’m calling your wife!”  
They laugh, smiling at eachother as he sets down her cider on ice and comes out from behind the bar to give her a firm hug as though there were family.  
“How d’you think we’ll do?”  
“C’mon now, really, against Hull? You know we’re winning the cup” she grins, sipping her drink with a wink as she sits down next to Jim.  
“Paul, Jim. Jim, Paul”  
The men share a glance and a nod.  
“You didn’t tell me you were famous ‘round here.” Jim says nudging Mariella with an elbow, leans into her so they are shoulder to shoulder. Despite his casual dress, with his soft looking jeans and heather grey t-shirt, he smells expensive. He smells like men you pass in the lobby at an opera, mixed with cigarette smoke and something else but she can’t put her finger on it.  
“Didn’t say I wasn’t.”

As they sat, engrossed in the game and their pints, her mind wandered and she thought about how nice it was to have someone, other than the staff, to share the match with. It had been years since someone asked her out for drinks, for anything, without being prompted by a mutual friend. Mariella was a nervous drinker, four pints in while Jim was nursing his second.  
“So d’you just move here? What d’you do?” Her speech was getting sloppy, she didn’t much care, at least now she could talk to him easily. Normally she could hold her own, but having skipped her last three meals was catching up with her metabolism.  
“Not brand new to London, no. New to Camden. I’m in business. I fix problems for people.”  
“Oh that sounds nice of you. What kind of problems, like IT?”  
“Yeah, that’s me, Jim from IT. Are you a nurse, no a doctor - surgeon?”  
“Well, I suppose technically what I do is surgery to a degree. I don’t save people’s lives though; other side of the coffin.”  
“Undertaker then, not every day I meet a beautiful mortician you know.”  
“Oh flattery will get you far.”  
“Mmm, how far exactly?” As Jim asks he leans forward into her personal space so she can smell the lager on his breath and puts a hand on her knee, it’s a light touch but there is a possessiveness in it.  
“About this far.” She closes the gap between their faces and captures his partially open lips in a wet, alcohol soaked kiss. He kisses back, swapping from side to side his nose as he works his jaw into her own. A frisson of heat runs down Mariella’s spine.  
All of a sudden Kosicleny makes a goal, Mariella pulls away from Jim to cheer and the moment is broken. Mariella is almost heartbroken about it, except for the fact that at least now they are even to Hull on the pitch.  
“I feel like an idiot asking if you followed, cos damn, you’re more into this match than I am.”  
“Well, it is afterall the FA Cup. We need this.” she replies with a simpering smile.  
“Suppose we do.” Jim says, once again placing his hand on her thigh, but running it up higher than he had before.  
She tries to play it cool, tries to make it seem like she doesn’t want all of the attention from this man. In the end the game is still just as exciting, but she can’t help but focusing most of her attention to Jim.  
He is just too attractive to actually want her, too sweet for him to actually see anything in a girl that spends her days wrist deep in bodies.  
The match ends after going into extra time and Arsenal, after a nine year curse, take the Cup. All is right with the world and Mariella could not be happier.  
“You wanna go home?”  
“Not in particular, Jim.”  
“Mine?”  
“Sure.”  
Mariella approaches Paul to close her tab, but instead gets  
“He’s got ya love. Have a good night.” Paul says with a wink.

When they get outside he takes her hand in his own. Their fingers are about the same size and length, his only slightly longer. Sure over the years here in London she’s had a few flings, a handful of one night affairs, but nothing that really lasted. Maybe it was just her. Maybe it was the work. But, this, this sort of quiet affection had been missing from her life for longer than she cared to remember. She swung their hands lightly between them, reveling in the fact that he hadn’t yet pulled away.  
“Cab?” she asks  
“Nah, let’s walk, it’s so lovely out.”  
“Right, so tell me about yourself. You’re a Gooner and…” she left it open ended  
“Not much to say.” he laughs under his breath  
“Gotta be. Family, school, super secret covert foreign operations?” she goads  
“No Da, ever. Mum’s dead. One brother, that’s an odd relationship. We work together but I wouldn’t say we’re good friends. Richard and I aren’t really close or anything, not really. And I can’t just tell you all the good stuff right up front, dull” He squeezes her hand and looks up to the sky to see what stars aren’t blotted out by the light pollution of the city.  
“Tell me about you Mari. Can I call you Mari?”  
“Yeah, um, Mari is fine.”  
After a sigh she begins to regale with her life’s story, a condensed version. She leaves in the really good bits - being there when the Berlin Wall came down, swimming at the Great Barrier Reef, Opera performances, being a Fulbright-Hays Scholar, starting her Phd, moving to England to do her life’s work. She leaves out her history of mental illness, mentions only in passing that she is a divorceé but doesn’t go into details. It isn’t until she is rambling about work that she realises they’ve stopped outside a door.  
“Sorry, got a bit carried away, didn’t I?”  
“You’re beautiful when you speak about your passions. There is fire in your eyes, I like it.”  
“I bet you say that to all the girls.” she says churlishly  
“Trust me, I don’t. Don’t usually talk to women.”  
“Oh.” Mariella has a sinking sensation that this isn’t going where she thought it was going. That any minute now he’ll open the door and some gorgeous blonde man will answer it and pull him into a kiss and then she’ll have to give into realisation that he invited her over to kip on the couch because she was too pissed to get home on her own.  
“Don’t look so crestfallen. I’m not gay.” he announces mawkishly  
“Did I look that let down?”  
“Yes. A bit. Want to come in?”

She just nods, a slight flush running over the bridge of her nose. 

As they walk in she’s a bit taken aback by the state of his place. Books and papers scattered on every flat surface available, the place isn’t well lit and there are mugs of half finished tea by the sink. He notices her facial expression is trying to be polite, but a bit of nonplus is coming through.  
“This is just my bedsit, here. We could go to my home if you’d like.”  
“More than one place eh? How many lovers are you juggling?” It’s a joke- she thinks  
“Oh, you know, thousands.”  
He opens a drawer to an apothecary chest and shuffles a bunch of mobiles around to grab one out. He spends a moment to text something then throws the phone back in the jarble without waiting for a reply.  
“Okay, I’ll take you to my home, on one condition.”  
“Which is?”  
“You never tell anyone where we go. Ever.”  
This sounds like a good way to be murdered on a first date. The type of conditions a serial killer gives victims just before they are spirited away, never to be seen again. She can take care of herself, he is her size-ish.  
“Uh, okay.” she replies and a small stripe of fear races through her and her blood goes cold for just a moment.  
“Just so you know, I have live-ins. My top three men stay, sometimes.”  
“Oh, maybe I should just go home. I’ve work in the morning anyway.”  
“They don’t bite, promise. Richard has always been quiet. The Morans will keep to themselves.”  
“Just for a bit.”  
“Just for a bit. Come now our ride will be waiting.” it’s not a request, his beckoning is irrefusable. 

They leave the small flat, once again hand in hand.  
“Aren’t you going to lock your door?”  
“Why bother? I’ll lock the building.”  
She goes to question him but is left speechless when a blood crimson Jaguar stops at the kerb. A man, better dressed than Jim gets out to open the back door.  
“Ma’am” he tips his head to usher her into the back seat  
“Boss” the driver bows a little further  
“Oh, Sebby, so formal.” Jim says with a faux poshness intended to mock.  
Mariella toils with the edge of her jersey, feeling out of place in the vehicle and wondering where his ‘home’ actually is. Her mind stumbles about the type of business he actually does. She stares out the window, a blank porcelain doll face to the world.  
“Where to Boss?”  
“Is Kensington open?”  
“Think Rin’'s got work out of there tonight”  
“Fine, just go to Mayfair.” Jim says flippantly  
“You’ve gotta be kidding me, Kensington or Mayfair, just like that?”  
“Would you prefer East Finchley or Belgravia. They should be fine for tonight.”  
“Really? Belgravia? That close to the palace?”  
“Seb, you heard the woman, Belgravia it is.”  
Sebastian doesn’t say a thing, just nods and starts on the journey. There is a tension in his shoulders that Mariella recognises as jealousy. She lets it go, thinking offhandedly that the driver could be upset that he doesn’t stay at Belgravia on a regular basis and here is a girl in Arsenal kit getting invited over on the first time they’ve met.  
“So what is it you do exactly?” She hopes she isn’t prying too much for safety  
“I told you, I fix people’s problems, it’s fairly lucrative, along with other perks.”  
“I can see that.” she huffs and gestures towards their chauffeur  
“I’ve got a lot of things going on in the big bad world out there.”  
“Hhmm, I’ve got a lot of paperwork.” she murmurs, as though her business is anything compared to his, although she still isn’t sure exactly what that is.  
The ride is mostly silent. Jim takes out a silver cigarette case and offers Mariella one.  
“Oh, I only smoke…” she stops when he opens the container to reveal her rare brand of Djarum Blacks  
“I know” he takes out two and lights them both in his lips before handing one off to her.  
“How did you know?”  
“I’m observant. I noticed them sticking out of your bag at the shop. I bought a pack hoping I’d see you again and be able to strike up conversation over one. And, I can smell them on you, even through the formalin earlier.”  
She takes a long drag, French inhales on the assumption he’ll find it amusing. He does and he mimics her with eyebrows raised. A silent bit of meaningless challenge. She’s not sure why, but she constantly wants to up the ante with this man, it seems like the best way to bond with him and the most interesting game to pass the time. She blows a smoke ring, accented by a small dot of vapour in the centre.  
“Don’t hear many people outside the profession say formalin. Where’d you pick that up?”  
“Oh, Richard always thought he was going to do it when we lived back home. Gave up on it before we left Ireland.”  
“Is he younger or older?”  
“Younger by three minutes, and I never let him live it down.”  
“Ah, twins. Identical?”  
“Almost Mari, almost.”

A very dirty thought crosses her mind, one of sharing the brothers, men aren’t the only ones who think such things. Jim picks up on the devilishness in her eyes, nothing escapes him.

“We could you know, he would you know, we have you know.” Jim whispers so his breath tickles the shell of her ear. It’s the repetition of the words that raise her heartrate.  
She can’t resist, leans into capture his lips and he slides a cold hand between the warm denim on her thighs. She squeezes her legs together, not to stop him, but to grip him , to urge him on. She let’s out a moan that she didn’t mean to release. He’s spurred on by the sound, his hand changes angle to cup the curve of her crotch, pressing fingers hard into the thick seam at the seat of her pants. She is too busy enjoying the snog to care that she seems like a tart. Put a few drinks in her and she puts out. She’s always been promiscuous, and besides, it’s been an age. 

Jim’s mobile vibrates and starts blaring. He reluctantly answers it, breaking the kiss, but not moving his hand from between her legs.  
“Es wäre besser, den Job zu beenden.” he hisses into the smartphone. She can hear a simpering voice on the other end of the line, but her concentration shifts as Jim starts to roll his fingers against her jeans. “Weiter höre ich von Ihnen war es am besten getan werden, oder ich werde Ihre Haut in eine Kunstinstallation zu machen!” He ends the call and resumes kissing her, starting at the peak of her collarbone, just barely visible through her Arsenal kit.  
“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?”  
“Ja, und jetzt wissen Sie, mein Geschäft, nicht wahr?” he says between kisses on her neck  
“Ich kann Ihre Gehimniesse.”  
“Mmm, I know you will, won’t you?” he retakes her mouth. The kiss is soft, so dichotomous from the venom his mouth had been spitting moments earlier, but the nips in between are anything but. They stay entangled, sharing breath and breaking voices until the car slowly comes to a stop.

As Sebastian opens the door Mariella pulls back a little, like a teenager caught mid-act by a judgemental parent. As the couple files out of the car the tall scar-faced Blonde smirks and smiles lasciviously at Mariella.  
“G’night Sebby.” Jim gets on tip toes to kiss his driver on the cheek.  
“Jim.” he says getting back into the Jag.  
Mariella is a little confused by the sight. Well if not gay, bisexual, maybe pansexual? Who the hell knows what people are these days. She approaches the white columned door in awe, she could never afford this place, his doormat probably, let alone several others.  
“Welcome to my humble abode.” Jim opens the door and spreads his arms wide like a circus showman.

The foyer isn’t gaudy but it is intimidating, she’s pretty sure that’s an authentic Latham on the wall and that the chandelier is actually crystal and not finely cut glass.  
“Fancy a drink?”  
“Just one, but I really do have to get home tonight.”  
“Just one.” he repeats her speech, he did it earlier, and now he’s done it again, she is aware it’s a tactic to placate people. She accepts the Bénédictine all the same. It’s just a night cap, just the one. She’s okay with one more she tells herself.  
They sit closely together on the expensive looking tufted couch. He wraps his arms about her shoulders and she leans into him while sipping her liqueur. He tucks the top of her head under his chin and gently pets her arm with his free hand.  
“Are you free Saturday?”  
“I’ll be working, probably at least until six.”  
“I’ll send Sebastian to pick you up.”  
“Oh, and just where is he going to be taking me?”  
“Danse a Grande Vitesse at the ROH”  
“I do love Covent Garden.”

Jim finishes his drink first, set down the crystal on the end table. Mariella only notices his hands are free when both of them are slowly skimming up under her shirt, skirting along her stomach; self-conscious, she sucks in to make herself appear thinner.  
“Relax” his voice is husky, breathy

She downs the rest of her night cap in one, then shifts so they are laying across the couch with her between his legs. She can feel the heat of his torso seeping through her shirt, warming her back. Jim starts tracing lazy circles across her stomach and up her sides. He’s humming something, but she can’t name it, the melody keeps changing; it’s soothing, like a lullaby. She closes her eyes and melts into Jim a bit more. As she does she notes that she can feel his erection straining through his jeans, but he’s not greedy, isn’t rucking. What a change, she thinks with a smile. Still humming, Jim plants a kiss into Mariella’s hair.  
“Come to bed with me.” Its a statement, but its a question and its the best way she’s ever been asked. She doesn’t reply, simply twists so they are chest to chest and kisses him under his jawline. His hands shift up to her ribs and he presses gently away from himself. The two of them rise silently from the lounger, he once again takes her hand, now to lead her to his bedroom. 

The upstairs room is tidy and equally decorated to match the rest of the home. The duvet is turned down and the head of the bed holds a mountainous pile of pillows. Jim casually takes off his shirt and jeans, but leaves on his boxers, then, climbs into bed under the eiderdown and innocently pats the space next to him. Mariella, suddenly very aware of just how fit Jim is in comparison to her somewhat soft frame decides to sit on the side of the bed with her back to him to undress before sliding in under the covers next to him. Mariella stays on her side, curled up like a child concerned with taking up too much space. Jim curls up behind her, as flush as possible, knees interlocking and ankles making awkward contact. His right hand reaches up to take down her hair, which he does with surprising ease. Her hair cascades down between them and he inhales deeply.  
“I simply love the way you smell. Cigarettes and tea tree oil, London smog and rosemary, and under all of that there is you.”  
She shivers at the compliment and presses into him as he runs his hand down her side to grip at her knee. Jim kisses where her shoulder and neck meet, Mariella’s breathing stutters. He skims his palm over her hip and down to the line of her panties.  
“Mariella, may I?”  
“Yes, Jim, yes.”  
His fingers dip under elastic, over smooth skin and between soft lips to find her already wet. So wet. Jim groans, a guttural sound of appreciation and Mariella draws in a sharp breath when his fingers begin slow figure eights over her clit. Despite herself her hips kick and she grinds them back against Jim to reciprocate sensation.  
Within minutes she is a panting, simpering mass of want at his touch.  
“Feel good, bae?” Jim bites into her shoulder  
“Jim, I’m…”  
“Come for me” Now his is rutting in earnest, his hips working in time with clever fingers.

It is probably seconds, though it feels like centuries until molten heat spills and she is falling like an angel from Heaven over the precipice into petit mort. She can feel sound coming from her throat, but she can’t hear it. The whole of the universe is blotted out my the intensity running electric through her body. She is shaking, shuddering, voluntary muscles refusing to take heed.

“Ssshhh, ssshh, sshh, c’mere.” Jim just holds her and rocks them gently.  
When she regains her senses she hazily snakes a hand behind herself to bring Jim off only to find that her fingertips are met with cooling, thick wetness.  
“Sorry. Stay there. I’ll clean up.”  
Jim rolls away fractionally, just enough to reach the tissues on the night stand.  
“Don’t apologise.”  
“Well, I’m not usually so disappointing.” he says while sliding out of his pants and wiping up the rest of his release.  
“No complaints here.”  
He kisses over her tattoo of a D-20 and says “That’s quite a book you’ve got there.” referring to the tattooed text that runs from the top of her scapula to her iliac crest.  
“Story for another time.” she replies, completely deadpan, forcing herself up from the mattress.  
“Stay.”  
“I’ve work”  
“I’ll get you to work, early, promise”  
For some reason, and the second time in the night, she trusts him, believes him and ends up reclining back into bed. Jim twists onto his back, opens an arm for Mariella to place her head on his chest. She falls asleep to the rhythm of his heart while reciting the path of his blood in the back of her mind - SVC,IVC,Coronary Sinus, Right Atrium, Tricuspid, Right Ventricle, Pulmonary Circuit, Left Ventricle, Bicuspid, Left Atrium, Aorta - Heart Magic. 

 

She wakes up in a panic. This isn’t her room! She didn’t set an alarm! She has nothing to wear! And fuck all, where is Jim?!  
Mariella scrambles to redress in her clothes from the night before, there isn’t even a clock in this room and the curtains aren’t letting any light in so she has no clue what time it is.  
Jim walks into the room with full breakfast on a tray and two mugs of tea.  
“Calm down Mari. It’s only 5:45.”  
She stops mid-motion and takes a few deep breaths to lower her anxiety.  
“Have breakie, relax.” he sets the tray on the credenza and pulls out the chair in invitation then grabs a cup for himself and retreats to a wingtip.  
She sits down and tucks into the delicious hot meal before her.  
“Have you eaten?”  
“Ate while I was making yours.”  
After a few moments of chewing she replies “It’s awful sweet of you.”  
“You’re my guest, would be rude not to.”  
“I really do have to get going.” She says biting off a bit more toast and downs it with tea.  
“No need to rush” he walks to the wardrobe in the room “I had this brought in for you, I’m sure it’s your size. Wasn’t sure on the shoes so I got a range.”  
Jim retrieves a beautiful three piece tweed skirt suit from the bureau, there isn’t a label on it, so, so it was made for her. The forest green fabric is windowpaned with a thin line of golden hue. The shoes laid out are sensible, short heels; six pairs, all would look lovely with the suit.  
She is speechless, stunned that a man she barely knows has gone through the trouble to dress her, and dress her well.  
“You’re welcome to shower of course. Unmentionables are in a box on the counter. I hope you don’t mind I picked a palate for you as well.”

This is odd, people don’t do this. People don’t just out of the blue buy you bespoke garments so that you won’t be late to work. 

“Why?”  
“Mariella, I’ll be forward. I’d like you to be by my side. I’d like you to work for me, with me. It was not coincidence we met yesterday. You’re skilled you’re educated and you’re beautiful. Join me?”  
“So what, you’ve been stalking me?” There is a slow boiling rage starting from her toes and working it’s way up.  
“Such a harsh word. Let’s say following your career.”  
“And what, I’m just supposed to drop my life and trust you?”  
“Mariella, I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted. The life you deserve. Travel, culture, freedom. You can finish your Phd, get five of them if you fancied. All you have to do is one thing for me. One job. That’s all.”  
“You want to employ me, not date me.” She is frustrated, andgry even, did he wine and dine her just to get her to work for him? What an arse. Giant prick, raising her hopes that like just to dash them.  
“I don’t mind mixing business with pleasure.”  
“I’m showering.” she storms past hims to the ensuite, snathing the suit from his hands. She needs time to think , she also needs to get ready for work.  
His soaps are expensive, more so than her own, but she should have known. As the water pours over her she weighs her options. Are these even options?  
When she dresses she is surprised that the bespoke garment fits her like a glove, better than any of the rack suits she has purchased and had tailored for her. She doesn’t want to guess at it’s cost. And she shouldn’t, really she shouldn’t.  
After putting on her face - with perfect palleted hues - and pinning her hair up she walks back into the bedroom to find Jim still sipping teas at his desk.  
“I’d go with the fawn ones if I were you.” he offers to the task of shoe selection. She tries on one light tan pair but they’re too small, the second pair fit.  
“Thank you for everything Jim. I’m going to work. I’ll let you know tonight.”  
“Of course. Want Bastian to drive you?”  
“No, I’ll take the tube.”  
“Very well, suit yourself. See you tonight.”

Mariella gets to work before everyone else, nothing new there. She take the time to dress Mr. Jenkinson and file death certificates.  
“Oh, I like the new duds.” Belinda says when she walks into the director’s office  
“Thanks, it was a, it was a gift.”  
“A very nice gift then, for why?” she goads, trying to get more information, but Mariella knows this tactic and ignores her.  
The day is busy, busier than usual. They get three first calls and she have to cover two of them herself on top of an arrangements conference. The family she meets with wants all the bells and whistle for the funeral service, but without paying for most of it. They want flowers to rival the displays in Regent’s Park on Tesco budget. It is exhausting trying to get things in order while keeping her professional person in place. She doesn’t even get time for lunch. Instead she has a V8 and time for a smoke and calls it even nutrition. She was scheduled to be here until 6:00 and it’s already 7:45 when Keith tells her she’s on call for tonight. By the time she collects her things and shuffles out of the funeral home she is haggard and slouching in her lovely new apparel.  
“Long day, love?” an Irish lilt meets her at the kerb “I’ve been out here since six”  
Jim is leaning on the crimson Jag from the night before. He’s in a grey suit with a white tie, hair slicked back, there is barely a resemblance to the man she ran into at the shop, he is instead a whole different creature.  
“Oh Jim, you’ve no idea.”  
“Can I take you to dinner?”  
“I am famished.”  
“What are you in the mood for?” he asks opening the passenger door for her  
“Anything. Scotched Eggs would do. I don’t care.”  
For as upset as she had been with him this morning it is a relief of sorts to see him. That sweet smile and the glint in his eyes raises her spirits, if only a little. And really, it shouldn’t have done, she should not accept this offer, should properly banish him from her life for being such a remarkable prat.  
She lights up a clove and sighs. Before he pulls off he leans over and kisses her on the cheek. She decides then, that yes, despite her better judgment, she will take him up on the job - but she still has questions.  
Jim valets the car and escorts Mariella by the elbow into the restaurant.  
“Mr. Brook, your table is waiting.”  
They are shown to a setting in the corner, away from the main dining, practically hidden out of sight. Mariella wonders if he made reservations or if he is the type of man who just has tables waiting for him throughout the city at any given moment.  
“Deux prefixe s’il vous plait.”  
“Monsieur.”  
She unfolds her servette and quirks a smile “Ordering for me now, really? And in French no less.”  
“Well you did say you would eat anything.”  
“Fair enough.” she already tearing into the fresh brioche set between them “So, Jim Brook, what’s this job?”  
“Nah, it’s Moriarty, Richard Brook is my brother.”  
“Weren’t you in the news a while back?”  
“How nice of you to notice.” he feigns a blush  
“So, it’s criminal fixes then. I see.”  
Just a bit, not legal. Not all of it is criminal, that is what loopholes are for.”  
“I see. “ Mariella repeats, considering now if she will take to offer after all  
“Pou vons-nous obtenir une boqtielle de Porto Tawny que j’aime.”  
“Oui.” the server scurries away  
“Je paire que vous pensez que vous etes impressionant n’est-ce pas?”  
“Oh, je savais que je t’aimais pour une raison”  
The wine arrives, Jim takes a spit and approves. Their meals come out in artfully plated courses, some sort of salad with candied walnuts and brie, duck confit, langue boeuf. It’s amazing, the best meal she had since she moved to London, she could never afford it on her own and she knows it so she savours it.  
“How do you feel about what I do?”  
“I think you'll find I’ve an impressive amount of moral flexibility.”

Jim just smiles, forks a tiny piece of his main between grinning teeth. He looks more like a shark than any human Mariella has ever seen. For unknown, probably unhealthy, reasons this lack of humanity is alarmingly attractive.  
Mariella inquires as to her necessity to Jim and Jim fills her in with no vague terms. The plan is devious and clever and all together unethical, it makes her bristle in a way she’d never really considered. More often than not Mariella has thought of herself as a good person, but now she has a gorgeous man sitting across from her playing footsie under the table and asking her, in an enthralling Irish lilt, to help him devise the downfall of a heroic man. And right now, well, she is questioning her ability to define herself as ‘good’. Right now in fact, the mere idea of joining Jim in criminality is arousing several things within her. She agrees wholeheartedly to the entire thing, losing herself in the possibility of a new life. Then it hits her. What happens after this one task? Will she be left, discarded, thrown out to pick up the pieces of the life she left behind to have this one adventure?

“Jim, what happens after this?”  
“Whatever do you mean?” he has that fake coyness in his voice that belies is total understanding of the question.  
“You won’t need me any more then will you?”  
“Ah, I see. You want to be assured you won’t be left out in the cold to fend for yourself. I can pay you upfront, buy you a cottage, make you a new life. No worries there.”  
“So this, whatever this is, is temporary. I suppose it is good to know ahead of time.”  
“It’s as temporary as you want it to be. I know your skill set, outside of your profession. You could, if you like, join me indefinitely. There will always be room for a woman like you in my line of work.”

The offer is so complimentary her heart swells in her chest, she wants to sing out but tries to contain herself. She doesn’t manage to control her smile. Jim reciprocates over the rim of his wine glass. This, in spite of , or maybe because of, the ethical ambiguity and planned delinquency, is nice. She wouldn’t call it a date, out loud, she’s not sure Jim would approve, either way it’s the nicest one she’s been on.  
They end up at her place, pawing at one another like horny highschoolers. She should be ashamed of the way her bequested suit is wrinkling as he presses her up against the door to her flat, but she isn’t, not one bit. He grabs her by the backs of the knees to bring her leg around his hips. Her skirt rucks up and the sensation of fine slacks against her inner thigh is phenomenal. Jim goes to break the kiss, pulling back slightly, starting to murmur something but Mariella won’t allow it. She fists his tie and pulls him in on the fashionable leash. Only once she’s caught his tongue between her teeth for a moment does she relinquish capture of his mouth.  
“Fuck me, right here, up against the door. I want my awful neighbors to hear us.” Her voice is raspy with lust, lower than usual, full of primal need and want and dripping with a plummy accent.  
“Du kleine Schlampe” his voice is as biting as his words. He drops and hand between them to unzip his flies.  
As he is pushing aside the panites he bought for her last night she leans in to whisper against the shell of his ear “Fick mich wie du mich hassen.” She is barely finished with her words when he sinks into her to the the hilt, hard, fast, aided by her slickness  
“Ugh Sie so fest wie die Sünde sind.” he barely grits out between teeth locked together and bared.

A little voice inside her head tells her this is stupid, they should be using a condom, they shouldn’t make so much noise, she shouldn’t have asked a man like him to hate-fuck her. All of this is wrong, but she couldn’t care less right now. She’s mumbling in German and French, the heat of him inside her is blindingly good. Jim is panting, breath being knocked out of both of them with every thrusts as she pulls her hips impossibly closer to his. Her lower back is beating relentlessly on the door behind her and deep down she hopes the terrible woman living across the hall has guest and they can all hear her and Jim.  
“Oh fuck, Jim, a Dhia, tá mé gar. Dhéanamh dom teacht.” She cries out, eliciting a hitch in his rhythm, he is stunned at her fluent pronunciation of a language most people from home don’t speak.  
“Shit.” the word is stretched out over several syllables “ you’re a mouthy fuck. More.” his pace becomes more and more frantic, he’s chasing his release and she is chasing her own. Her voice speaking his mother tongue on her lips is the sexiest thing he’s heard in a while. And now she is moaning openly, rolling her hips into him, matching him stroke for stroke, driving him mad. The material between them is tepid, sticky, humid with their work’s sweat. Somehow, only having contact between their legs makes the sex so much better. Knowing that at some later date he’ll lay her bare, skin to skin and take her to pieces; but now it’s base, it’s uncivilized and it’s perfection.  
“Lion mé suas” that’s enough for him, one, two, four pumps more and Jim’s hips freeze and he’s spilling into her. She’s close, so painfully close and suddenly terrified he’ll leave her wanting. She simpers, it’s a whine of frustration and greed.  
Jim’s eyes lock onto Mariella’s for the first time since he started fucking her, previously too busy burying his face in her neck or shouting blasphemies to the ceiling. He see instantly that she isn’t sated. Still hard, he pushed into her once more, taking a hurtful breath from Mari’s throat to hang in the air.  
Jim drops to his knees without a word and pushes her skirt up, high around her waist, tugging her underwear out of the way and licking a hot stripe from her arsehole to her clit. He’s taking his spilt semen on his tongue along the way, smearing across her lips as he does so. It’s so very unexpected that her knees threaten to give out on her.  
His hands press her body harshly against the wall to steady her.

“Brace yourself and be a good little girl.” he says darkly, amused with talents, as yet unknown to his newest conquest.  
Her hand grips the doorknobs and splays out across the wood paneling as best she can. Jim lifts her with unanticipated strength, putting her thighs over his shoulders and burying his face between her thighs. Whatever his is doing with his tongue ought to be a goddamned crime, it’s amazing, it feels as though he’s licking all of her at once with precise pressure and tempo.

“Oh fuck Jim, don’t you dare stop.” her hand comes off the door and tangles itself in his inky hair. As his head is bobbing she is kicking her hips to meet him, riding his face like a show pony.  
When she come she screams from the top of her lungs and the word on her lips isn’t his name, it’s dirty, it’s wrong but she’s calling him Daddy in a repetitive mantra until she is hoarse. Like everything else this evening it’s the patina of moral turpitude that makes the moment better. Still reeling from the high, she hopes that sex with him is always this good. A memory of the discussion they had in the car flashes into and she hopes sex with him and his twin is better.  
Jim lets her legs down slowly, careful after all the roughness not to drop her. 

“Alright there love?” Jim asks with a laugh in his voice, with the type of self satisfaction that only come from knowing how well he’s done as is evident from her lack of composure.  
She doesn’t have the mind about her to respond in anything more than hums of approval and deep bellowing sighs.  
A shrill tone cuts through the air and ruins the state of euphoria that both of them were floating around in.  
“God dammit, Keith.”  
“No one said you have to answer bae. In fact I’m saying not to.”  
“I’m on call, I don’t think you understand.”  
“Well Ms. Koble who works for a dull funeral home in Kentish Town was on call, but, I dunno that my newest employee is.”  
“So what? I just pretend I don’t exist?”  
“That’s the easy way. Never come back to this flat, don’t take anything, you won’t need anything.”  
“I still have family back in the States.”  
“Isn’t it unfortunate that they never found your body? It’s now or never.”  
Mariella allows a few more rings, if she doesn’t answer she is confirming their agreement, she’s leaving her life behind. This isn’t just a phone call, it’s a new identity, it’s leaving behind everyone she has ever known to spend her life with a criminal genius. The phone goes silent. “One missed call” scrolls across the screen. She takes a deep breath and once again meets Jim’s eyes.  
“Ready when you are, m’aam.” Instead of the triumphant tone she anticipates she is met with something more reserved. Something that hints at his understanding of what he has done to her life in the last thirty seconds.  
“Give me just a few minutes.” 

Instead of going directly to retrieve momentos, to bring along cherished pictures or grab jewelry with sentimental value as Jim expects; Mariella sets to tidying her flat. She makes sure her books are in order. Pulls out a well worn, gold leaf copy of Grey’s Anatomy and stares at it for a minute. She presses her lips to the spine and inhales deeply at the scent of leather, it’s petrichor is nostalgia and she is leaving it behind. She gently places the book back on it’s shelf, and it takes it’s home among it’s companions none the wiser to her departure. She makes her bed, square military corners, tight enough to bounce a quarter off it. Hand washes the one teacup in the sink and puts it back where it belongs. Mariella doesn’t take anything, not even a photo, not even change of clothes. Without a word she walks out the front door and down the narrow staircase that leads to the street. Jim follows silently, he leaves the door to her place wide open and turns off the light as he goes. When he gets down to the street level she isn’t waiting by the car, she isn’t on the kerb, she is half way down the street, headed into the heart of Camden Markets and not looking back for a moment. He’s never done this before, taken a person from their real life and brought them into his inner circle. He’s recruited, but usually from the inner depths of London’s underbelly. He’s watching her walk with determination, and is trying to guess what she’s planning. She walks up to a stall, and is chatting with the owner for a moment. She disappears into the back before Jim makes it to her at his leisurely pace.  
“Where’d my wife get off to now?” he asks the man at the booth  
“Ha! That’s not gonna work mate, she’s not married, I’ve known her for years. And just you wait.”  
“Wait for” Jim is interrupted  
“For this” she says dramatically walking out from the makeshift dressing room

No longer is Mariella dressed in the fine tweed of Saville Row, she emerges in clothing Jim would never have pictured her in. Tight black straight line pants with straps hanging from hip to opposite knee. Patent leather platform boots with far too many buckles, they are shiny like fresh dark cherries. Her shirt, is barely that, an A form that encircles her neck and runs over her torso just barely covering the vital areas and revealing more skin than Jim has ever seen her do in public, even over the weeks of observation she had been under. Like this she looks like another woman, her tattoos are prevalent, her hair has been unpinned and she looks years younger, maybe even under age like this.  
“Hardware Aian” she says staring Jim down and flipping her hand palm up in the shopkeeper’s direction. He hands her three small metal pieces and without flinching she presses them through obviously long closed tunnel scars. Her lips dripping with silver and a small hoop in her left nostril.  
“I figured if I were absconding it would be best if I had a disguise, don’t you think?”  
“Whatever gets you to dress like this more often seems a good enough reason for me bae.” Jim says slithering toward her, more reptile than man, the way he moves when he has given into the baser portions of his brain.  
“Thanks Aian, I doubt I’ll see you around and remember, I wasn’t here to begin with.” She leans forward and kisses the young man from behind the booth. It’s on the cheek and it’s sweet and he doesn’t expect anything more from her, even dressed the way she is . Jim however, expects more, much more and he possessively wraps an arm around her hips to pull her in the direction of their vehicle. Taking his claim, she is what he owns. 

“The feck do you want now?” His voice is a harsh yell across a mostly empty flat, it’s not as messy as the other one Jim took her to, but there are bits of weaponry laying about “Seriously Jim” still echoing and Jim just turns to Mariella with a smile and takes the corner to meet Severin in the living room.  
“Hi” Jim’s voice is the annoying sing song of a child dressed in Westwood.  
“You’ve got to be fecking kidding me Boss” Severin is stunned when he realises that Jim is not alone, instead he is flanked by a woman who looks like she belongs in a nightclub where even the black light is too dark to see by.  
“Severin, Mariella, Mariella Severin.” there is an awkward flapping of hands between the strangers by Jim before Severin holds his hand out to offer a shake. He just nods, and is slightly surprised by the grip she’s got  
“Ba mhaith leat i ndáiríre a? Ciallaíonn mé nach bhfuil sí le beagán …” Severin begins at Jim  
“A thuilleadh cad é?” Mariella chimes in, not willing to be talked about like she isn’t in the room and wanting to establish some level of supremacy as soon as possible. If Jim’s men doubt her this will never work, and she has never taken kindly to condescending people.  
Jim laughs uncontrollably, it is a full gutted howl, the look on Severin’s face supplying the fodder that could keep Jim going on a tear for months. Severin is obviously less amused that the language he uses with Moriarty to communicate things in secrecy when there are others in the room is understood by the ‘ other’ he is trying to discuss. Mariella is nothing but a smirk with her right eyebrow disappearing under her fringe.  
“Yeah, Sev, I’m sure.” Jim says when he finally pulls himself together “where’s your brother?”  
“He’s out, you’ve got him on the job in Tottenham, that uh, how much can I say in front of her?”  
“Anything you’d say to me you can say when she’s here. Consider her the newest extension to the family.”  
“Right, he’s got to take care of that idiot fence who lives on Tebworth, remember, the one who tried to keep a bit of the last package and sell it for himself?”  
“Oh yes, yes, yes, poor soul, an overdose is never an easy thing to accept for the family.” Jim is stoic and serious for a minute before laughing a little “Anyway, we need to get her acquainted with how we do things around here.”  
“Yes, I’d rather like to know the inner workings of the largest criminal empire this side of the Atlantic.”  
“Oh, honey, this side?” Jim says with another sly grin “You’ll work that out as we go, we’ve got too much going on out there to just set you down and tell you all at once.No I mean, how things work between the four of us on a much more intimate level.”  
“Ah, and how is that?”Mariella asks, pressing her body tight against Jim’s back and delving one of her hands into his trouser pocket.  
“It works like this” Jim says, voice all play and with a tip of his chin.

Severin stands from where he has been cleaning his Sig Sauer P226 and keeps it in hand as he approaches the new couple. The muzzle of the gun bites into Jim’s soft submandibular flesh, pushing in the way one might position it to kill the person on the other end. Jim draws in a sharp breath and Mariella can feel his body stiffen against hers moments before Severin captures Jim’s lips harshly , closing the gap between their bodies. As she watches the men kiss, she is slightly startled by a hand winding it’s way from her hip down to her arse and squeezing. Jim rests his hand on the front of her thigh and grips lightly, much more lightly than Severin. She understands that he is questioning her level of comfort, he doesn’t really care if she likes it or not. If she wants him this is not an option. She doesn’t even hesitate, laves a long stripe across Jim’s neck up to his earlobe to capture it in her teeth. Jim lets out a heavy breath and melts between his two admirers.  
“I like how this works.” Mariella rasps into the shell of Jim’s ear, making searing eye contact with Severin. She roughly presses Jim ‘s face out of the way to take Severin’s lips to her own, still trapping Jim between their now undulating bodies. “Yeah, this works for me”  
She pulls away from both of them. Lights a cigarette and takes the chair Moran had previously occupied.  
“So when do I get to work?”  
A moment passes where Jim and Severin haven’t quite caught on that she has denied them an entire encounter. The kiss they exchange as they break apart to turn to her is chaste, it’s sweet and Mariella realises that there is more to all this than just sex and violence. She doesn’t mention that she has noticed.  
“Well, technically you start Monday, we’re going to give you a new name and a new identity, think you can fake your way through being a forensic pathologist?”  
“Am I working on my own, who do I report to? Where am I doing this?”  
“St. Barts, mostly on your own, you’ll report to a department head, you’ll need to do autopsies, and make it believable. And we’ll need you to get close to him.”  
“Oh, yeah, I can do post-mortems, no problem. And I won’t have to make them ‘believable’ as you say, I’ll just do them proper and no one will question a thing. And trust me, gaining his confidence won’t be a problem, look how easily I have done with you.” She exhales a toxic cloud  
“So what’s my new name?”  
“Molly Hooper.”


End file.
